The Rod of Light (Soul of the Robot)

‘Can I not make you understand?’ Jasperodus retorted angrily. ‘The task is hopeless! There can be no consciousness for robots! If Gargan thinks he can achieve it he is simply ignorant!’

‘But he knows of a way to do it, Jasperodus! He has vital information. And he is not ignorant. He has the most advanced specialists in every field working with him!’

Jasperodus paused, his curiosity suddenly intense and mingled with unwelcome presentiments. It would be interesting to meet this Gargan and talk with him ….

He shook the urge off. He had been through all this before. At that moment a bourdon note sang through the township, its low vibration hooting and rasping among the metal shacks, causing them to shudder ever so slightly. It was a klaxon, calling the citizens to action.

‘Our ways will part, then,’ he said. ‘I will fight, and you will flee.’ He placed a hand on his visitor’s shoulder. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, Jasperodus, and I am bitterly disappointed at your choice!’

‘But then what would you know of loyalty,’ muttered Jasperodus. ‘You are all reason.’

He strode off and joined the throng that was racing from its various marshalling areas. Night had come.

4

For hours the makeshift army, after emerging from the outskirts of the township, had proceeded stealthily through the darkness. Just before dawn it halted in a shallow incline. In as near to silence as could be managed, the marshals made themselves busy putting order into the host, getting infantry, vehicles and artillery ready to move forward into the attack.

On the brow of the rise, Jasperodus consulted with others of the defence committee. The enemy was camped four miles to the west. The hope had been to attack in darkness so as to take advantage of the Borgors’ natural need to sleep at night, but due to the cautiousness of the advance the journey had taken longer than anticipated.

Jasperodus was already beginning to take a dim view of the probable outcome of the battle. An emotion fatal to armies was beginning to pervade the expedition: fear, a reaction to which free robots were particularly prone in the face of physical danger. All through the night the army had been steadily melting away. The scouts had intercepted many of the defectors and brought them back, but Jasperodus thought that up to a quarter of the force might have vanished.

The committee itself was staunch, of course, and the robots of the new Bellum class were fearless in all circumstances. But there were only a few of those.

By radio speech, the committee convocator had been receiving reports from the marshals. He looked at each of his colleagues in turn.

‘All appears ready,’ he said.

‘We must not delay,’ Jasperodus urged. ‘Order the attack.’

The Bellum nodded. Silently he used his speech set to send a radio signal to the township.

The plan was simple enough. An air strike for cover while they crossed the four miles to the Borgor camp. Then an onslaught to annihilate the dazed and disorganised Borgors—or at least punish them enough so that they were forced to withdraw. In a resonant, braying voice, the convocator bawled a command.

‘For-W-A-R-R-D’

The assembly was galvanised. The marshals—themselves Bellums for the most part—urged the first rank up the incline. The rest followed closely in a continuous flow of clinking metal and softly roaring engines. Then, on level ground, the assorted cavalcade set off at a frantic rush.

The marshals had learned from their experiences of the night that the main mass of infantry had to be kept penned in. Carrier vehicles, motorised beamers, catapults and rocket racks travelled in two columns that herded the foot soldiery between them, while a few vehicles at the rear dealt with stragglers. Any robots that could clung to the motorised transport, but most carried their weapons at the run, stumbling and falling. All need for caution was gone. The drone of engines, the thudding of metal feet on hard earth, became a rising rumble that from a distance must have sounded like the mutter of thunder.

Jasperodus looked down on the jostling horde from the deck of a rocket launcher. Then, after a few minutes, he looked up and saw the air strike arriving: it consisted of his own transporter and some similar but smaller aircraft, simple in construction and carrying light loads of bombs and rockets. The group whistled in from the south, curved towards the Borgor camp, and began bombing.

In return, beams licked skywards and, with little delay, missiles streaked towards the attackers. Two robot-piloted swept-winged aircraft exploded in midair as they circled to make a second run. Despite that, a ragged cheer came from the advancing army at the sound of explosions and the rising palls of smoke.